UmbrellaSized Flowers Aren't Lucky For Nothing
by SousLeStylo
Summary: [Oneshot] What could possibly make Lily Evans enjoy her Herbology class? You know what they say about UmbrellaSized Flowers, right? R&R please!


**A/N: **Just something I thought up while sitting here, quite bored out of my mind. Hope you like it. R&R and all that please.

**Disclaimer:** Most assuredly not mine.

**Umbrella-Sized Flowers Aren't Lucky for Nothing**

I'm not one to hate school subjects. Woe to the student who cannot handle her wits about a few plants! But, when I'm standing there at the start of class facing the grungy glass door of greenhouse number three, my book bag digging into my shoulder from its weighty contents, my stomach just…drops.

I know, I know—the 'brightest witch in her class', right? Well, we've all got to be rubbish at something I suppose.

Take Grizelda Abbott, for instance: She may excel at Arithmancy, but rue the day when Ms. Abbot manages to stir up a proper concoction in Potions class without singeing an eyebrow off or making the cupboards rattle with the sound of an explosion! Or, you might consider Theresa Brown: The Divination professor says she's got 'the Eye', whatever that means, but I remember in first year the first day Ms. Brown tried to hoist herself up onto a broomstick—James Potter was laughing for a week at the sight of her bum in the air, legs twisting all about…the poor girl!

And, speaking of Mr. Potter—I can tick off a generous list of _his_ faults. Not only is the boy lazy, arrogant, and a good-for nothing; why, he's no better at Herbology than I am! And it is most likely for this reason that I am standing here being sprayed by soil and dragon manure as James swings his Bouncing Bulb around, trying to prevent it from hitting him in the face.

My bulb presents little problem for me as I've stuffed it under a terracotta pot. I'm not the 'brightest witch in her class' for nothing, you know.

"Oy, Evans, you want to help me out here?" Cries James, as he tries to get his bulb into some sort of headlock. All around us, the other students, paired up for goodness knows what reason, are struggling likewise with their Bouncing Bulbs.

I stare at James for a moment before answering, "Certainly not, James."

Of course, James Potter may very well expect a little help from me. I did, after all, kiss him after his rather dashing performance at the last quidditch game—Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. Come to think of it, I can't recall what made me rush up to him and throw my arms around his neck, snogging him as if he were a cool glass of water in the middle of the Sahara Desert. But never mind that now, for he can't for a moment believe I'd do _that_ again while he goes around the school calling me by my surname still. Why the nerve of the wretched boy!

He gives me a cold look before his bulb jumps out of his control and whacks at a few of the bright umbrella-sized flowers that clog up the ceiling of the large, foggy-glassed building. A few of their petals, as large as my book bag, drift down to land on my head. Suddenly, I'm blind as a bat—the only thing I can see is the muffled orange color of this particular petal, draped so unceremoniously over my eyes. It instantly reminds me of pumpkin juice.

"What the—" I mutter to myself as I try to pull the great big sheet-like petal out of my face.

I'm nearly successful, too, when something thumps me hard on the head and bright white stars start to explode behind my eyes, looking uncannily like some dragon fireworks Sirius Black let loose on the Hogwarts grounds last year.

"Oh!" I gasp out.

"Lily!" Comes a mortified voice from nearby, and even out of my nearly unconscious state, I manage to roll my eyes. _Of course_ James would use my first name at a time like this!

As I'm debating whether or not to sink into a slight coma, or to immerge from my injury and this accursed orange petal completely and miraculously unscathed, something is tugging at the petal over my face. And, low and behold, the beauteous visage of one tyrant with a Bouncing Bulb enters my limited area of vision.

"Lily," James breathes out, sounding more than slightly relieved. "I'm so glad you're all right. Thought I'd knocked you out for sure with that one! It's just, you see, I'm not that great when it comes to dodgy plants, you know?"

My mouth does something odd, quirking up on the right side and down on the left, as if, of its own confounded accord, it can't quite decide on smiling or frowning at the boy in front of me. Personally, I would have gone with the frown, but instead I end up with a rather goofy looking smirk.

"Why are you sneering like that, Lily?" James asks, suddenly looking worried. "Merlin, I didn't really knock you out, did I? Are your pupils dilated? Do you even hear me? Lily? _Lily_?"

The prat's got his hands on the side of my face now, and in the orange glow of the giant petal that's draped over the both of us, he looks oddly sinister. I'm suddenly wondering why nobody noticed that Mr. Potter and Ms. Evans have hidden themselves beneath the large petal. Wouldn't one notice a giant, moving talking orangemass on the floor? Obviously, James and I were not the only ones having trouble with their bulbs.

I tug his hands away from my face, then try to brush the dragon manure he's wiped all over me off in some pitiful attempt to preserve my dignity. " 'Course I can hear you, you great lump. What'd you think I'd gone and died because a whack of what, I certainly hope, was your Bouncing Bulb?"

James, what with his dirty mind, answers, "Right, my 'Bouncing Bulb', eh?"

"Oh, honestly James, get a hold of yourself. What are we still doing under this petal anyway?" I say to him, who just grins and puts his hands on either side of my face again. Merlin, he is going to get manure all over me by the time the lesson is over!

"Well, Miss Evans," James says matter-of-factly, "haven't you ever heard that the tangerine petals of the extraordinary and notoriously rare Umbrella-Sized Flower are good luck?"

He tugs the petal down over us, so that absolutely no air can make its way in. Great grindy-low, he isn't going to suffocate me, is he?

"Good luck?" I ask, puzzled. "No, I haven't heard anything of the sort. Now that I think on it, has the professor ever mentioned anything _at all_ regarding these flowers?"

James sighs exasperatedly before answering in an annoyed rush, "No, they've never been mentioned in class that I can think of either, Lily. But, don't you want to know what they are good luck for?"

I stare at him for a bit before I realize what is going on. He's got that look in his eye—the same one he gets around Christmastide when he spots me in a corridor beneath a branch of mistletoe, or when he clambers after me on platform nine and three quarters at the end of the term, trying to grab at my hand so he can, in his words, 'send me off properly'. And, no doubt, it is most likely the same look I had in my eye when I marched up to him at the finish of that Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff game.

Oh yes, I know that look well—James Potter is aiming for a snog.

"Ha," I scoff at James, not bothering to brush his hands away from my face a second time, as they'll probably find their way there again anyway. "Oh, I think I know what large, curtain like, orange petals are _lucky_ for, James. But, if you think you're going to demonstrate _that_ to me, well, you've quite another think coming, haven't you?"

James just glares at me and mutters something about "don't know what you're talking about."

"That's right, Mr. Potter!" My tirade continues. I feel somewhat like Napoleon must have at the beginning of a passionate plea for his country's liberty—never mind that he ended up a loony dictator. "You see, James, I'm onto you. You can't just fancy a girl for absolute _ages_ so that no other blokes will ask her out, and then have her kiss you in a very misguided attempt to gauge her own feelings, and _then_ ignore her except for when you need something from her and call her only by her last name, and _then_ whomp her over the head with a giant bulb, and _then _trap her beneath a ridiculous orange petal, and _then_ just expect her to—"

However, my brilliant Napoleonic oration was swiftly cut off as James puts his mouth over mine, cutting off any possibility of proper speech. Sitting under the large, pumpkin-colored petal of the extraordinary Umbrella-Sized Flower, James' calloused hands grinding dragon manure and soil into my cheeks, I give myself over to the kiss.

Let's face it—I am a sucker for romance, and it was a rather warm, comforting kiss. So, I was not at all ready to detach my face from his, condemn me as you'd like!

Reluctantly pulling away from me, James gives me a roguish grin, and I ask, in what I'd like to believe is an offended tone, "Seriously?"

Of course, I'd meant that was he _seriously_ going to stop kissing me now, right when I was beginning to actually like Herbology class. But, instead, he answers, "Well, I couldn't let you go on, could I? Merlin knows you could have been at it for hours!"

I glare at him, then pull him up with me and whip the large petal off of our heads. The students in the room had stopped working and were now staring at us with looks of incredulity, as if we had appeared out of thin air and hadn't been there the whole time.

"What?" I hiss at my nearest neighbor, clamping a hand down on my terracotta pot once more. Next to me, James's bulb bounces around on the table, getting some impressiveheight as it flings itself into the air.

James looks red in the face and laughs nervously to himself. Across from him, Sirius Black is giving him the old 'I know what you were up to' look while nudging one of his comrades next to him—Remus Lupin, I think.

Then, to my horror, James glances at Black and Lupin,shrugs, and says, "Hey, it wouldn't be the first time a guy snogged his girl beneath one of those petals, eh?"

He glances over at me and my face heats up, out of both rage and complete mortification. I try to send him telepathic threats of a very painful death as he takes a breath and adds slyly, "I told you they were lucky for something, didn't I Lily?"


End file.
